


Mating Games 2014 Weekly Challenges (Director's Cut)

by the_deep_magic



Series: Mating Games [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Fractured Fairy Tale, Frottage, Humor, M/M, Magical Healing Cock, Sexual Dysfunction, Submission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-25
Updated: 2014-06-24
Packaged: 2018-02-06 03:03:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1841890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_deep_magic/pseuds/the_deep_magic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Here are my entries for each challenge as they were originally written (i.e. not cut down to 750 words).  Pairings and warnings vary, but will be posted at the beginning of each chapter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Happily Ever After

**Author's Note:**

> Pairing: Cora/Stiles  
> Warnings: none

Cora presses her cheek against the bark and closes her eyes, her claws sinking a little deeper into the trunk of the tree. She tries to think of soothing things: puppies, rainbows, rainbow puppies that rip the wings off harpies. Slowly. Like, one feather at a time. She tries to slow the racing of her heart, calm herself down, and yet…

“Could you go any fucking slower, Stilinski?”

She hears a snort somewhere below her, but doesn’t look down to see how far below. “This would be a lot easier if you would let down your hair so I could climb up.”

“Fuck. You.”

“Just a suggestion, but you may not want to antagonize the person who’s rescuing you,” he says, and there’s a _crack_ and a _crunch_ and a _skitter_ that makes Cora’s stomach lurch. Stiles, however, sounds infuriatingly calm. “Food for thought. Also, human hair really does have some pretty impressive tensile strength. You know, if you had enough of it.”

“Stiles,” she says, trying to control her breathing, “no offense, but was there literally no one else they could spare? Someone of the werewolf persuasion?” She wouldn’t admit it under pain of death, but she… she doesn’t want him to see her like this. Not when what they have is still so new, so tentative.

“Mmm, sorry. _Literally_ everyone else is fighting the harpies. You remember, the ones that put you up here in the first place? And since I can’t bite or shoot or do ostentatious backflips off of every available surface, they could spare me.”

It’s probably a lie – no doubt Stiles volunteered, but Cora doesn’t really feel up to parsing his motives so long as he _hurries the fuck up_. He sounds like he’s getting closer, and every time he moves up another step, the tree shakes a little. Not much, but a great deal more than Cora would like. But she’s held down her lunch so far, and she’s not going to surrender to the indignity of puking on Stiles, as momentarily amusing as that would be.

Stiles has to be very close to her now; she can smell the sharp tang of his sweat and hear a great deal of grunting and creaking until everything comes to a stop with a small jolt that makes her fangs drop.

“So,” Stiles says, and he sounds like he’s right in front of her now. “A werewolf who’s afraid of heights. How does that work?”

She forces herself to open her eyes and, in fact, Stiles is not even two feet away, perched on a branch on the opposite side of the tree. He’s got a coil of rope tossed over his shoulder and he appears to be tying one end of it to the branch on which he’s sitting. “We don’t spend a lot of time flying,” she manages to grit out. “How the hell did you get up here?”

“While _you_ were farting around in South America for the second time, _I_ was teaching rock climbing and rappelling for two years at summer camp. Plus, I really, really like to climb trees.”

His smile is crooked and bright, though there’s no hint of mockery in it and she could kiss him for that. Well. Once they’re safely on the ground, where nature intended all non-winged creatures to remain.

For a split second she’s worried he’s going to ask how she’s feeling, if she’s okay, and then she really might panic. But he just shifts until he’s standing on the branch and reaches out for her. “Okay, we can do this one of two ways. You could climb on my back and—”

“Nope.”

“Okay, we can do this one of one way…” 

&&&

Later, Stiles only makes one fear-of-heights joke when Cora shoves his naked body onto the bed and climbs on top of him. She’s well aware that he goes pretty nonverbal when she’s riding him, so she makes that happen as soon as possible.

There are scratches and scrapes on the hands that reach for her, that gently squeeze her breasts and rub over her nipples. She arches into the touch and lifts her hands from his hips, giving him room to piston up into her. His breathing is erratic but his thrusts are steady, and she closes her eyes for the pleasure of listening to the sweet, helpless noises he makes when she clenches around him. Fuck him, he even _sounds_ beautiful, even if she’ll never know how to tell him that.

He drops a hand down to fumble at her clit, too far gone to get the rhythm she needs. It won’t make her come, but it feels good, sends lovely little shocks of sensation through her pelvis as she rocks down on him. He’s saying her name now, over and over, which means he won’t take much longer, so she opens her eyes again. This is never something to miss, the way his eyes screw shut and his neck arches. She leans down to bite and he shouts, jolting beneath her as he comes.

Before she can even give him a proper hickey, he pulls out of her and makes quick work of the condom before yanking her forward on the bed. She catches herself on the headboard moments before he goes in for the kill, licking at her in long, flat swipes that have her pressing her hips against his face.

She feels open and hungry for two of his clever fingers, too worked up for the way his tongue is flicking so lightly against her swollen clit. She snarls and he laughs, the vibrations of it making her voice turn into an embarrassing whimper. But after that, he stops fucking around, puts his mouth right where she needs it most and rolls his tongue against her until she’s all but shaking with the need to come. Then he _sucks_ and she falls right over the edge, riding out the hard shivers, trapped between his mouth and his fingers.

They end up, as usual, in a sweaty tangle with only the minimal involvement of sheets. Stiles pushes some wayward strands of damp hair from Cora’s forehead. “I kind of liked being the one to rescue you for a change,” he murmurs.

He’s giving her that tender look that she never quite knows what to do with, so she reverts to what she knows best: snark. “Don’t start thinking you’re my Prince Charming or anything.”

Stiles laughs, showily licking his lips that are still wet with her. “I’d like to see Prince Charming do _that_.”


	2. The Beast Within

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Derek/Stiles  
> Warnings: nogitsune!Stiles, angst, emotional manipulation, explicit talk about underage sex and dub-con

“He likes this, you know,” the thing inside Stiles snarls, even as Derek holds it by the neck firmly against the brick wall in his loft. “When you rough him up. He likes it when you push him around.”

Derek knows he shouldn’t be engaging with the nogitsune, but he has to keep it occupied for at least half an hour so Scott can try to get some answers from Deaton. And one thing the nogitsune seems to share with its host is a love of its own voice, so Derek has to keep it talking. “I do not _rough_ Stiles up.”

The thing chuckles, a twisted parody of Stiles’ bright laughter. “Hate to be the one to break it to you, boss, but you’re doing it right now.”

“You’re not Stiles.”

“If I had a fucking nickel…” the thing sighs. “I have all his thoughts, his memories. I’m in his body, which, coincidentally, is where he’d like _you_ to be right now. Or any time, really. He’s flexible. No, really, he’s _flexible_. He can almost suck his own dick. Wanna see?”

“Kind of hard to do anything when you can’t move,” Derek growls, squeezing Stiles’ wrists tighter and pressing them harder into his back.

“Ooh, shit, that’s good.” It rolls Stiles’ hips against the wall. “I think he’s hardwired for this. I am so fucking turned on right now and I’m not even trying.”

Derek bites his lip to keep his mouth shut, sucks in a huge breath through his nose and immediately regrets it. He can smell Stiles’ – its? – arousal, spiking above the baseline teenage horniness that usually surrounds him.

“I know all of his fantasies,” it purrs. “Most of them are about you.”

There’s no telling how much of this the real Stiles will remember and Derek wants desperately to tell the nogitsune to shut its fucking mouth, but if it’s busy tormenting Derek, it’s not trying to escape or trying to kill anyone else. This is the least Derek can do.

But the thing takes Derek’s silence as permission to keep talking. “That doesn’t surprise you, does it? Could it be that you’ve thought about it, too?”

Derek isn’t expecting that, and he goes completely still. It’s only for a fraction of a second, but the thing immediately starts laughing. “Aw, how sweet. A little love story unfolding right under everyone’s noses. I chose him for his spark, but this is even better.” There’s a pause, and then the thing undulates Stiles’ body in a slow wave back against Derek, voice dropping to a whisper. “I could let you have him, you know. Just like this. It’s not as though he hasn’t thought about it, you fucking him against a wall. He wants it, Derek. And I’ll twist and moan just like he would.”

Derek shoves back immediately, gorge rising at the nogitsune’s words. _Chaos, strife, and pain_ , Derek remembers. This thing is strong enough to kill him, but that’s not what it wants.

It turns around slowly, stretching Stiles’ arms over his head before leaning back against the wall. There’s no mistaking it for Stiles – the nogitsune exudes a calm arrogance visible in every inch of Stiles’ body. Gone are the slouching shoulders and fidgeting hands, and it makes Derek even sicker to think that he finds Stiles’ body even more attractive this way, right down to the proud glimmer in his eyes.

“The _things_ he wants you to do to him,” it says, smirking. “He’s creative, I’ll give him that much.”

Derek’s fangs drop and his claws slide out before he can control himself, and the thing grins. “Oh, yeah, he’s all about that. You fucking him while you hold your claws to his throat, the tips pressing in just enough that he can feel them every time his heart beats.” It wraps Stiles’ long, graceful fingers around his own throat as if to demonstrate. “He likes the fangs, too. Wonders how hard you’d have to bite before you’d break the skin, if that would hurt or if it’d feel good. My money’s on ‘hurt,’ but hey, that might be his thing.”

It pushes off the wall, taking a step toward Derek. “He wants to fuck you, too. Likes the idea of you secretly loving it, submitting to him. What do you think, are you into that? He’d be gentler with you than I would, but something tells me you don’t want gentle. I think you want a penance fuck, hard and dirty. I can’t promise you I’ll last very long, but I’ll be able to get it up again so fast you won’t even notice.”

Derek cuts it off with a growl. “You need to stop talking right now.”

“Or what, Wolfman? You think you can take me this time? I’ve been feeding on pure crazy for almost 70 years, but I’d still hate to put you out of your misery. It just tastes…” It sighs, rubbing at Stiles’ crotch and tipping his head back. “…so fucking good.”

“You’re not going to win,” Derek says, and it sounds pathetic even to his own ears, but he has to say something to quiet the rush of his blood.

The nogitsune just continues on like Derek hasn’t said a word. “But what gets him off the hardest – I mean, _really_ makes him bust a nut – is the thought of you shoving that big werewolf dick deep inside him and swelling up until you can’t move. Filling him up until he wants to scream, he loves the thought of that. Seriously, his legs get shaky after that one. He’s even thinking about buying a dildo with a knot in it, and he doesn’t even know if you have a knot.” Its cold eyes snap back to Derek’s face. “Do you have a knot? He’s absolutely _dying_ to know. He won’t live long after I use up this body, so the least you can do is tell hi—”

It never gets the chance to finish the words, because Derek has his hand around Stiles’ throat and is lifting him off the ground. It’s a stupid, reckless move that won’t end well for Derek, but there’s only so much he can take. “When I fuck Stiles, long after you’re gone, it’ll be because he tells me himself that he wants to. I’ll knot him as often as he can take it. And yeah, it’ll be so good he _will_ scream.”

There’s a knee in his chest shoving him backwards and knocking the wind out of him. But before he feels the size 10 Converse connect with his temple and everything goes black, at least he knows he got in the last word. And maybe, wherever he is, Stiles heard it.


	3. Non-Penetration Challenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Derek/Stiles  
> Warning: sexual dysfunction

“How long?” Stiles asks.

There’s no judgment in his voice, but Derek’s still-flaccid cock in Stiles’ hand is condemnation enough. “Since Jennifer.”

Mercifully, Stiles doesn’t voice exactly how many years that’s been (six, plus four months and 18 days), but he does ask, “ _Never_ , or…?”

“Only when I’m by myself,” Derek says, wanting nothing more than to crawl under the covers and die, even though it’s not his bed. “And sometimes not even then.”

“It’s not—”

“I should get going,” Derek says, rolling up to his feet in one quick movement. He gets dressed and walks out the door without so much as looking back at Stiles. 

&&&

Stiles calls three times before Derek can summon the courage to answer the phone.

“Why did you run away last night?”

“Seriously?” If Derek grits his teeth any harder, they’re going to crack.

“No, I get the obvious. But I mean, there’s other stuff we can…”

Stiles trails off and Derek is immediately hit by a wave of guilt. Stiles had been so hard, leaking over Derek’s hand. _Derek_ is the problem, not Stiles, and he didn’t even have the decency to try to get Stiles off. “I’m sorry,” Derek blurts out.

“You’re—” Stiles cuts himself off, and Derek can hear a rapid heartbeat on the other end of the line, but he doesn’t know what it means. “We need to talk about this in person, Derek. And before you freak out about anything else, I am neither mad at you nor breaking up with you.” 

&&&

It’s a conversation Derek has managed to avoid for six years, four months, and 18 days. And he never _needed_ to have it before that.

“Please don’t apologize again,” Stiles says, handing Derek a mug of tea. Honey, not sugar, just what Derek likes. “If anyone should be apologizing, it should be me. I took things too fast.”

“Stiles, I ripped the fly of your jeans. I don’t think speed is the problem.”

Stiles goes pink, heartbeat kicking up a notch, and maybe that’s something, that just the memory of it gets Stiles flustered. “I know, but we didn’t talk about anything. I just moved back into town and we… I forget, sometimes. Everything you’ve been through.”

Derek growls without meaning to. “It’s bad enough that I have to remember it. I don’t want you thinking about it, too.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I guess I should have told you. But I was hoping, maybe with you…”

Stiles shakes his head. “This isn’t about me. I mean, I don’t think it is. You seemed pretty… invested.”

“I was. I _am_ ,” Derek insists.

“Okay,” Stiles says, like that settles everything. “We’ll figure it out.” 

&&&

It’s not like Derek can’t get hard at all. And everything Stiles does feels good, Derek just doesn’t come, or even really get hard enough to fuck Stiles. Stiles hasn’t expressed any interest in fucking him, thank god, because it’s something Derek’s never liked, but he’d probably say yes if Stiles asked.

But Stiles doesn’t ask, nor does he expect Derek to talk everything to death, which is what Derek assumed he meant by “figure it out.” Instead, he takes a more hands-on approach.

“Ffffffuck, you feel good,” Stiles groans as he rubs his whole body against Derek’s. Stiles is hard, but every time Derek reaches for his cock, he presses Derek’s wrists down to the bed and nips at his chin. Derek may or may not be initiating this on purpose by now.

Stiles’ hands go _everywhere_ , fingers dipping into the groove of his spine, teasing over the shells of his ears. When he rubs roughly over Derek’s nipples, Derek feels his cock start to swell. Stiles has to feel it, too, with the way his thigh is wedged between Derek’s legs, but he pays no attention to it, too focused on worrying the tendons on Derek’s neck with his teeth. Derek wants to say something, to tell Stiles to start jacking him off or something quick, while he has the chance, but Stiles’ mouth feels too good on his throat for Derek to interrupt him.

His hard-on ebbs and swells again, but Stiles continues to ignore it, and soon Derek’s too busy kneading Stiles’ perfect ass to care. Finally, when Stiles’ arms are shaking and his sweat’s dripping down on Derek’s chest, Derek yanks Stiles’ hips down, rocking against him until Stiles is rutting into the crease of Derek’s hip. When he comes, he moans like he’s dying and shivers in Derek’s arms.

It’s a long time before Derek lets go of him. 

&&&

Sometimes now Derek comes so close to… well, coming, particularly when Stiles spreads him open and flicks his tongue over Derek’s hole. This time, Stiles licks in and twists, and while pressing down into the bed, Derek suddenly realizes that he’s gone blindingly hard.

He scrambles up and fumbles for the lube, but he’s already starting to soften by the time he gets back to Stiles. Stiles still sucks Derek’s wilting cock as long as Derek will let him, but before long Derek pushes him away and turns over to curl up facing the wall.

Stiles doesn’t say a word, just presses a kiss between Derek’s shoulder blades and lies down close enough that Derek can feel his breath ghosting over the skin of his back. 

&&&

Derek likes kissing the best, when they’re fully clothed but wrapped around each other like horny teenagers on Derek’s couch. Stiles is all lean muscle under Derek’s hands, all shivery gasps when Derek attacks his throat. It’s easiest to get hard like this, with just enough friction to make his nerves sizzle; it’s getting from there to actual sex that’s proven so unsatisfying.

So Derek’s fine – _more_ than fine – with Stiles writhing in his lap as he nibbles at Derek’s earlobe. It’s when Stiles reaches a hand down between them to palm at Derek’s erection that Derek freezes. Stiles just pulls back with a grin. “I have an idea, okay?”

Fuck, it’s hard to say no to Stiles when he’s got that glimmer in his eye, so Derek doesn’t. Instead he tries to keep from getting his hopes up, because he’s sick of feeling disappointed while Stiles has his hands all over him. Except this time, after Stiles draws Derek’s cock out, he takes Derek’s hand and brings it between their bodies. “Let’s keep kissing and you… just do whatever feels good.”

He doesn’t even give Derek time to think about it, just swoops back in and claims Derek’s mouth with a hard kiss. Derek’s hips surge up and he’s too busy trying to keep up with Stiles to focus on what his hand’s doing. Stiles is like quicksilver, sucking on Derek’s tongue one second and biting at his jawline the next. Derek doesn’t even notice the way his own hand speeds up or the low burn starting to build in his gut.

Not until Stiles groans right up against Derek’s neck and all of a sudden the tension breaks and he’s coming, oh fuck, he’s _coming_ , and Stiles’ hand wraps around Derek’s to feel the way Derek wrings each precious spasm of pleasure out of his body. It lasts forever, like his body’s been storing it up all this time, and he’s gasping, skin breaking out into goosebumps by the time he slumps back against the couch.

Derek doesn’t want to open his eyes, half-afraid he’s dreaming and he just made a mess of himself while asleep. But no wet dream could possibly be that good, and he’s never dreamed Stiles’ warm, honey-spiced scent before.

Stiles’ arms tighten around him. “Perfect,” he whispers against Derek’s throat.


	4. Light vs. Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Derek/Stiles  
> Warning: underage

It’s so hard to wait until everyone in the house falls asleep before climbing out of his bedroom window. Derek’s pretty sure Laura knows anyway, but she hasn’t said anything to him, and if she’d told their parents, he’d have heard about it by now. First Paige and then that close call with the crazy Argent lady – even Derek can’t quite blame his parents for wanting to keep him home.

But this is so, so different. First off, he only gets one night a month. Well, one night a lunar cycle, which is ironic in its own way. He can only see Stiles – or touch Stiles, or taste Stiles – under the new moon, with nothing but the starlight and his own heightened senses to guide him through the trees.

It’s never the same place twice, but Derek never has any trouble finding him. As soon as he enters the hushed cool of the woods, he just _knows_. Tonight it’s in the opposite direction from the Nemeton – a fact which gives Derek great comfort – and Derek drops down to all fours in a run to get there faster. It’s all he can do not to howl.

He knows when to stop even though Stiles isn’t there yet. It’s not a scent or a sound, but something about the way the shadows fall, coalescing until they become solid, something Stiles can hide behind. Derek’s accused him of being a bit of a drama queen, but he has a feeling that all creatures like Stiles, if there are any others, revel in that same minor spectacle.

And it’s no less spectacular tonight, when the shadows peel back and Stiles seems to appear out of nowhere, skin glowing like the moonlight that strengthens Derek’s powers. “Where do you even come from?” Derek asks breathlessly, and not for the first time.

Stiles just looks up at the stars and smiles. “I’m not even entirely sure where I am now.”

Derek should question it, he should… But they already have so little time together, and Derek figures he probably couldn’t puzzle out the how and the why of it if he had a hundred lifetimes. Not when Stiles’ luminous skin is warm and soft to the touch, when his eyes are ageless but the rest of him looks no older than Derek. It’s almost a year now that they’ve been meeting in the forest, but all told it’s only been 12 nights.

Whatever Stiles is, his body looks and feels and _smells_ human, his lips moving so sweetly against Derek’s. Things get heated pretty quickly – Derek nearly tears his boxers getting them off, but Stiles is just suddenly naked under Derek’s hands like he’s never been anything else. In the heat of the moment, Derek can’t even seem to remember whether he’s _ever_ seen Stiles wearing clothes. Stiles is so responsive to Derek’s fumbling touches, gasping when Derek pulls them roughly together and lands with his back against a tree.

When Stiles reaches between Derek’s legs, his fingers are already wet, and that’s the last thing that Derek wants to question at the moment. It _never_ feels this good when Derek does this to himself; Stiles easily finds an angle that Derek can’t quite get right with fingers or toys.

And he doesn’t have to hold back on a moan when Stiles lifts him easily. Stiles doesn’t look like he’d be able to do it, but all things considered, it’s probably the least uncanny thing about him. It crosses Derek’s mind to wonder whether he’ll ever have this again, ever be with someone who’s strong enough to hold him up and slide into him. It hurts a little – it always does, at first – but Stiles soothes him with a whisper like the night air blowing lazily through the trees.

Derek clings to Stiles, gets lost in those huge, dark eyes while he waits for his body to relax. He has no reason to feel as safe as he does out here, but Stiles’ impish grin always reassures him, makes him feel like there’s nothing else in the world but this.

It always starts out slower than he wants, and even though he knows it won’t do any good, he growls and tugs at Stiles’ hair. Stiles just laughs and kisses him, rocking in with teasing little thrusts that make Derek crazy. He’ll be embarrassed about it later, the way he practically begs, but in the moment he can’t do anything else. Besides, Stiles can never deny him for long, and soon he’s thrusting hard and deep until Derek is gasping and clawing at Stiles’ shoulders.

The angle and the friction between their bodies is enough to make Derek come, but as amazing as it feels, the real climax is Stiles’ orgasm. Derek would swear Stiles’ skin glows even brighter as he gets close, and when he finally cries out and buries his face against Derek’s neck, the very air around them seems to shimmer. It makes Derek proud, that someone so beautiful and so pure would take pleasure in him.

No matter how they start, they always end up wrapped around each other on a soft cushion of leaves, both still naked now that the weather is warming up. They talk some – or rather, Derek mostly talks and Stiles mostly listens. There are so many things he just can’t tell anyone else, and he came so close to destroying everything with Kate. If Stiles hadn’t warned him… Derek doesn’t even want to think about it.

So he doesn’t. He just lies quietly and strokes Stiles’ cheek with a single finger, tracing the strange, dark constellation of moles that stand out so starkly against the celestial glow of Stiles’ skin. “Sometimes I have the hardest time believing you’re even real,” Derek whispers.

Stiles grins. “Funny, I was just thinking the same thing about you.”


	5. Canon Divergence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Derek/Chris  
> Warning: instinct-driven D/s that could be considered dub-con-ish

“Victoria, _stop_!”

She just smiles serenely. “I’ve taken care of this… _thing_ once and for all.” She gestures down at Scott, twitching pitifully in the wolfsbane haze. “We don’t have to worry about Allison anymore.”

“He’s a child,” Chris says, recoiling from the gleam in his wife’s eyes. “There are other ways—”

Something barrels into him from behind and sharp pain shoots through his shoulder. 

&&&

The look in Victoria’s eyes isn’t conflicted at all – it’s nothing but grief. Like Chris is already gone. “The moon will be rising soon. You have to do it now, before it’s too late.”

Chris looks down at the gun in his hands. The bullets are full of wolfsbane, and the scent of it is already starting to burn his nostrils. “Say goodbye to Allison for me?”

“Of course,” she says, pulling him close. “I’ll take care of her. Always. Gerard and I will make sure she’s safe.”

The thought of what Gerard will do to keep his daughter safe makes a chill run down Chris’s spine, but he hides it, kisses his wife for the last time. He loves her, he does, but the way she lets him go so easily… That pain is worse than his throbbing shoulder.

The light in the bathroom is harsh, but it’ll be easier to clean this room than the bedroom. No horrific stains for Allison to stare at day after day, year after year. Chris is starting to tremble, and before he knows it, he’s pushed the window open to feel the moonlight on his skin. He can feel the wolf spreading inside him, taking over. In the mirror, his eyes are already starting to glow amber; he has to do it now.

Just one shot. Pierce both hemispheres of the brain and it’ll be over. Victoria will make sure Allison never even sees his body. She’ll never know what really happened.

The mirror shatters from the force of the shot, but Chris is out the window before the gun even hits the ground. 

&&&

He’s not even sure what part of town he’s in or how long he’s been running; all he knows is he’s chasing the siren song of _alpha, alpha, alpha_ that’s in his heartbeat now. When he races into the train depot, he’s aware of other wolves – betas, reeking of hormones and rage.

Chris _roars_.

The second Derek comes out of the train car, Chris lunges. His alpha is tired, not at full strength, but still strong enough to flip one fledgling beta on his back and pin him by the neck. Derek’s eyes flash red and it’s not enough to make Chris stop fighting, but he finds himself instinctively tilting his head back, as though he needs to bare more of his throat to Derek’s claws. Derek doesn’t seem surprised to see him.

“You’re not a teenager,” Derek growls through fangs. “You can control this.”

Allison’s face flashes through Chris’s mind. He knows about anchors, knows how they tether werewolves to their humanity, and there’s nothing Chris loves more in the whole world than his daughter. Even if she never wants to see him again, she’s still the best thing he’s created in a life full of destruction and he feels the madness draw back. Back, but not away.

“ _You_ ,” Chris rasps, tearing at what’s left of Derek’s shirt. “You did this to me.”

“I could have killed you,” Derek hisses. “I could have killed your wife for trying to murder a teenage boy. Instead I made you stronger. Made you invincible.”

“Made me one of you!”

Derek grins, a chilling sight on his shifted face, but something inside Chris stirs when Derek dips his head to whisper right in Chris’s ear. “It’s a gift, Chris. Accept it. Let it in.”

Chris can’t even summon the words to deny it; the pull is too deep. It’s part of him now.

That doesn’t mean he can’t keep fighting.

He surges up and nearly takes Derek off guard, but Derek is too powerful, his sway over Chris too complete. All it earns Chris is Derek’s entire body pressed atop his, all that taut strength pinning Chris to the floor and something about it feels right on a purely animal level. This is his alpha, the one who made him what he is.

If he had the power to rationalize it, Chris would blame the moon or the secondhand hormones for the lust raging through his veins. But the searing hot pressure of another body – Derek’s body, cruelly beautiful thing that it is – makes his legs part, letting Derek’s thigh fall between them. He could no sooner stop himself from grinding up than he could stop breathing.

Derek’s grin grows wider, sharper, and he rocks down, letting Chris feel the answering hardness through his jeans. “That’s it,” he murmurs. “Let your alpha take care of you.”

It should be utterly humiliating, this reversal of everything he’s spent his life fighting for, but instead it just feels good. It’s right that he should surrender himself to this urge, to take something that his alpha – that _Derek_ – is offering. He hasn’t felt this overstimulated in decades, and within minutes he’s aching with the need to come. He throws his head back again in frustration, but at the feeling of Derek’s fangs pressed lightly against his throat, Chris’s vision goes gray around the edges. His orgasm feels like it’s being torn out of him, raw and hollowing and just shy of painful.

But Derek is still there when he comes back down, still hard against Chris’s hip. He’s taken nothing for himself.

“Welcome to the pack, Chris.”


	6. Trope Challenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Derek/Stiles  
> Warnings: none

The silence that falls after the fae pops back out of the material plane is as heavy as a brick. One that clips Derek on the head on its way down.

Scott is the first to speak. “Did she just… I mean, was she being literal?”

Derek can practically hear Stiles grin behind him, but it’s Lydia who says, “Probably. Fairies are known for handing out unusual gifts, and Derek did just help defend their territory.”

Derek doesn’t feel any different, save for the lingering tingle of magic in his body, centering around… well, there’s tingling.

After a few more awkward seconds, Stiles clears his throat. “Obviously we should test it—”

“ _No_!”

That may be the first time everyone’s agreed on something at once.

Back at the loft, Stiles is the last to leave. That’s hardly unusual, but he hasn’t been able to wipe that stupid smirk off his face all day and Derek’s sick of looking at it.

“Derek.”

No. He will not engage.

“Deeeeerek, I have a paaaaaaper cut.”

“You don’t have a paper cut.”

“Well, it’s more like a nasty hangnail. Something funky is definitely going on with my cuticle. And it hurts. Like, a lot.”

The moment Derek turns to face Stiles – who’s sucking the tip of one long finger into his mouth – he knows he’s already lost. He hauls Stiles up over his shoulder even though it’s only a few steps to the bed, and Stiles is cackling the entire time.

“C’mon, big guy,” Stiles says, his eyes sparkling with challenge when Derek pins him to the bed. “Show me what you’ve got.”

It’s pretty easy to keep Stiles’ mouth occupied after that. 

&&&

Not two weeks later, Derek gets a phone call.

“Derek, hey! Could you – _ow, dammit_ – come on over to— _Put that down! It’s, like, 3,000 years old!_ ”

Derek sighs. “Be there in ten.”

Turns out Stiles’ new apartment is infested with gnomes. Or they live nearby and were drawn by Stiles’ spark or some damn thing – there doesn’t even need to be a reason at this point. But their gnarled little fists are like solid oak, and if Derek isn’t going to admit that three of them ganged up and knocked the wind out of him, neither is Stiles going to seek actual medical attention for his black eye and bruised ribs.

“ _Gnomes_ , Derek. They had little pointy hats. I’m not even telling Scott, let alone his mom. Or Deaton.”

Much as Derek might like to see Deaton try to Yoda his way around tiny wooden creatures who apparently like to break magical things just for kicks, Stiles has a point. He also has a series of nasty bruises starting to form across his torso.

His naked torso.

“Stiles, what are you—”

“Pants off, dude. You know what you gotta do.”

Derek growls; there is absolutely nothing he’s been able to say to convince Stiles that calling him _dude_ is the opposite of sexy, though that’s not the pressing issue of the moment. “I don’t actually have a…” He can’t even say it. He just can’t. “That’s not a real thing.”

Stiles grins. “Only one way to find out.”

“You’re hurt,” Derek tries. “You need rest and ice. Down your pants.”

“Not if I’m not wearing pants!”

Oh. Well.

Derek’s not quite sure of the sequence of events that lands them both naked in Stiles’ bed, but he’s no longer surprised to find himself there these days. He is constantly surprised by his fascination with Stiles’ hands, the way just looking at them tends to push all coherent thought out of Derek’s mind. Now, for example, Stiles is thrusting three nimble fingers into himself, panting and twisting, and Derek can’t remember whether it’s day or night outside.

“Derek, c’mon,” Stiles groans. “Give it to me _right fucking now_.”

As far as propositions go, the phrasing could use some work, but Derek is all in favor of the result. Despite Stiles’ eagerness, Derek goes slowly. He can still smell pain on Stiles, even if it’s almost completely overshadowed by the spicy, familiar scent of arousal. He holds Stiles down, trying to keep him from further hurting himself, but it only makes Stiles push back harder, try to force Derek deeper.

Derek is trying so hard to control himself that he barely notices when he bottoms out. Stiles, however, gasps and twitches like he’s been shocked. Before Derek can even respond, though, Stiles wraps a leg around his waist. “ _More_.”

When Derek starts to thrust, Stiles’ eyes go wide. “Oh my god,” he mutters as he starts to writhe. “I can feel it everywhere, _oh my god_.”

Stiles’ black eye is already starting to fade, and even though Derek doesn’t feel what Stiles seems to be feeling, he would swear they’re more connected than they’ve ever been. It’s like there’s an energy flowing between them, something familiar that binds them together and Derek is just now able feel it. Even though it should be impossible, he mentally gathers up the swelling feeling in his chest that Stiles always puts there and _pushes_ , like he can give it all back just by thinking about it.

Stiles yelps and goes completely still, and Derek’s terrified for a split second before he realizes Stiles is coming, spurting all over his chest without a hand on his cock, and just the sight of it shocks Derek into orgasm, too. He directs every bit of that energy into Stiles, and maybe the sex is so good that he’s actually imagining things, but he would swear he feels something pouring out of his very skin.

It’s not until he hears indignant sputtering that he realizes he’s actually collapsed right on top of Stiles. He quickly rolls off, worried again that he’s hurt Stiles, but Stiles is just muttering, “…going to do that, you’d better be ready for round two, like, right now, I swear to god…”

Derek catches his breath as Stiles rambles away, like he’s burning off the extra energy, and Derek makes a mental note to maybe hold back a little next time. Because it seems like he’s actually got—

“A magical healing cock, what the fuck,” Stiles exclaims with a laugh, his eyes bright. Derek can’t see a single bruise on his body, and from the way he’s draping himself over Derek, he doesn’t seem to be in any pain. “You could open a clinic, make a killing. Dr. Derek’s Divine Dick will cure what ails you.”

Derek’s too tired to do anything but throw an arm over Stiles. “Really?”

He feels Stiles’ grin against the side of his neck. “Don’t you fucking dare. This is all mine.”


End file.
